


respiratory

by shutuphadi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Asthmatic Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, kind of?? it'll make sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutuphadi/pseuds/shutuphadi
Summary: Peter remembers how hard it is to breathe.Or, a recovery.





	respiratory

**Author's Note:**

> it's so short im so sorry hnnnng
> 
> first off i want to dedicate this to tiger, les, oakley, jo, eva, and everyone else who was excited for this mess of a story. i love you all very much, and i definitely wouldn't have kept this without your support! thank you for tolerating me hehe
> 
> let's establish that i have no idea what i'm doing. i got the idea to write this last september/october with encouragement from tiger (@spidye on ao3, PLEASE read their fics), but i didn't start writing this until november after i had a breakdown and pulled myself out of an asthma attack. which is uh. not good? but at least i got a fic out of my own traumatic experiences. yay for inspiration i guess?
> 
> this fic involves me projecting a few of my own fears onto to peter (sue me), a depiction of his recovery post-Homecoming (even though this has been written hundreds of times by writers far more skilled than i am), and my take on how peter interacts with the city that he and i love so much. i honestly don't know how long this is gonna be? i have a vague sense of the plot and a few key scenes noted down, but nothing is set in stone. the tags will most likely go through some changes, mainly because this is the first time i've ever posted anything and i have no idea what im doing. be gentle with me
> 
> i don't know when i'll post the next chapter so don't get your hopes up for a posting schedule. but i can assure you that this won't be abandoned. probably.
> 
> my twitter is @shutuphadi if u wanna hmu! im generally anxious but im funny sometimes uwu
> 
> leave a kudo or a comment and subscribe if you want to! please enjoy!

Before Spider-Man, Peter had asthma.

He carried an inhaler everywhere he went. He puffed medicine every morning and every night. He couldn’t drink ice water or else his chest would seize up painfully for at least an hour. He had a doctor’s note permanently excusing him from vigorous exercise in gym. Which Flash never failed to torment him with all through middle school.

When Peter got bitten, he got enhanced _everything._ Stronger muscles, stronger senses. Stronger lungs. Breathing felt surreal. Sprinting to catch the train didn’t choke him anymore. Sit-ups weren’t the bane of his existence. Beating Flash in running laps was child’s play. Sometimes Peter would watch himself in the mirror, see the steady rise and fall of his chest, and grin. He remembered feeling unstoppable. Powerful.

Invincible.

And then Toomes happened.

And Peter hasn’t breathed easy ever since.

He can still hear the crunch of steel beams caving under the pressure of concrete. Could taste the dirt mixing with the blood in his mouth. The dirt, with its dust and stone clawing at his throat. The gray mud burning his eyes, filling his enhanced nose with the smell of admixtures and aggregate. Choking him in a way that water never could.

For the first time in a while, he felt breakable. Small and insignificant. Just a pesky bug for Toomes to crush under his heel. It was a torture that Peter wouldn’t wish on anyone. The feeling of dying, yet being alive. Breathing, but choking on _everything._ A personal purgatory built for Peter Parker.

The worst part is, he accepted it. As he lay trapped underneath his makeshift tomb, he remembered thinking, _I deserve this._ He recounted every mistake he ever made. Every person that he couldn’t save. Each clump of concrete was another way he had hurt someone, had been too late to catch them.

_This is how you die, and it’s all your fault._

In the end, he escaped his tomb. But a piece of him is still trapped under the rubble. Buried and barely breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> yea


End file.
